


Wanna Be Around

by mrs_d



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Captain America Sam Wilson, Domestic, Ficlet, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 09:36:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18938263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: It was good to be home.





	Wanna Be Around

**Author's Note:**

> Just a tiny page-breaker. Title comes from the truly spectacular song, Coming Home by Leon Bridges. Check it out here: <https://youtu.be/MTrKkqE9p1o>.

Sam leaned back against the door to close it, letting the click of its latch resonate throughout his body. After a second, he reached behind him and turned the deadbolt. There was something satisfying about the way it slid into place with a dull clunk. He rolled his neck, resting his head against the wood, and let out a long, slow breath.

Around him, the living room showed signs of Sam's absence — or rather, signs of Steve's presence. End-of-Semester Steve, which is what Sam called his husband in December and April, was a messy bastard. He left crumb-covered plates, half-finished cups of coffee, crumpled pieces of paper, and face down books on practically every surface in the house. It wasn't really his fault; End-of-Semester Steve was dealing with deadlines that Beginning-of-Semester Steve had put off, plus he was grading term papers and exams. As a result, he was tired all the time and very cranky, which was why Sam had agreed, as he often did, to a five-week mission that coincided with the last part of the term.

He pushed himself off the door. There was a lamp lit in the living room and yellowy light filtering down the hall, leading Sam to conclude that Steve was still up. Chances were that he was working in their spare bedroom, though — Sam checked his watch — it was nearly 4:00 in the morning. Most people's husbands would be in bed right now, but not his.

Sam set his duffle bag on the floor and shrugged out of his coat. He took off his shoes and holster, crossing the room in his socks to put his side arm in the lockbox right away. Once it was secure, Sam went back to the foyer and picked up the huge messenger bag that concealed his shield. This was, of course, the one exception to his rule about no weapons in the house. Natasha like to tease him about his vibranium security blanket, but Sam wasn't ashamed. His shield was one of only a handful of things to survive the ice with him; there was no way he was letting it out of his sight.

With his shield bag slung across his body where it belonged, Sam picked his way across the disheveled living room to the security console, where he activated the alarm system. Call him paranoid, but it bothered him that it wasn't already set. He hoped that Steve didn't make a habit out of leaving it off, especially when Sam wasn't home to protect him.

He winced at his internal turn of phrase and made a note that, if he brought this subject up with Steve, he wouldn't say it like that. Steve hated it when people underestimated him; if he knew that Sam thought he needed protecting, Sam would be in the doghouse for months.

But Sam couldn't help it. He was a soldier, a tactician— but more than that he was a weapon, forged in the darkest part of the Second World War and transported to the future by means that were too strange even for science fiction. And Steve was just a history professor. A short, skinny, asthmatic, hard-of-hearing history professor. That wasn't to say that Steve didn't have value, obviously. And, goddamn him, he could hold his own in a fistfight if it came to that, but Sam worried. He had a lot of enemies, and if they found out about Steve—

The alarm system beeped Sam out of his spiraling thoughts. The system was top of the line Stark tech, installed when Sam refused a place at the Tower. New York would always be home — even though he barely recognized at some days — but Steve had tenure here. And one didn't walk away from tenure, even when one's husband was a superhero.

Reassured that the alarm was active, Sam turned out the lamp, grateful for his enhanced senses that kept him from tripping over the stuff that was cluttering up the floor. He headed down the hall; it was time to tell his short, skinny, asthmatic, hard-of-hearing, and just plain stubborn husband to go to bed.

 _With me,_ something small and needy said inside Sam. He squirmed at the thought — it'd been a long, rough month.

But all thoughts of sex faded away when he got to the door of their spare bedroom. Steve was passed out at the desk, his neck and back slumped at an angle that he would surely regret tomorrow morning. His hearing aid was at his elbow, but his glasses were still on his face — crooked and smudged and possibly permanently bent now. The essay that was under his mouth was wrinkled in a way that suggested that there had been drool at some point recently, and he was definitely snoring.

Sam couldn't resist: he pulled his phone out of his pocket and snapped a few pictures before stepping into the room and nudging Steve's shoulder.

"Wha—?" Steve mumbled. He lifted his head and blinked a few times. "Sam?"

"Yeah, baby, I'm home," said Sam, careful to talk closer to Steve's good ear.

"What time is it?" Steve asked, reaching for his hearing aid.

"It's late," Sam replied. "You need to go to bed."

"Yeah… okay," said Steve.

"Wow, you must be tired," Sam remarked. "Going down without a fight like that."

"Only to you," Steve parried back through a yawn.

Sam chuckled. "All right then, let's go."

He walked behind Steve as he shuffled down the hall. Steve went right through their bedroom into the bathroom, and Sam set his shield down beside the bed before changing into his sleepwear. When Steve opened the bathroom door a minute later, they brushed their teeth side-by-side, and finally made their way to the bed.

Steve settled into his half, but he didn't stay there long. As soon as Sam flicked off the light, he found his left side covered with a history professor who seemed to have grown a few extra limbs. Sam huffed out a small laugh and rolled over to pull Steve more fully into his arms.

"How'd the mission go?" Steve asked.

"Not bad," said Sam, which was what he always said when he didn't want to talk about it.

Steve hummed in that way that meant he saw right through Sam's clever ruse, but thankfully he didn't press the issue. (Sam had no doubt that he would in the morning.)

"Well, you're home now," he said instead.

"I am," Sam agreed. He shifted his grip, holding Steve a little closer, a little tighter. "I really am."


End file.
